


burials and beasts

by unrequited_heartbreak



Series: sav's dreamsmp drabbles [5]
Category: DreamSMP
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Gen, Heavy Angst, Sam | Awesamdude-Centric, Vignette, sort of. i am making guesses for the future so it probably wont stay that way, spoilers for tommy's march 1st stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequited_heartbreak/pseuds/unrequited_heartbreak
Summary: “Sorry about the mess,” Dream murmurs, eyes fixed to the red clinging to Sam’s chestplate once he enters the cell again. He hasn’t tried to escape, hasn’t even moved from his position tucked into the corner of the room.Sam’s fingers curl tighter around the rag in his hand. Iron is heavy in the air, filling his throat, choking him. Quiet, he says, “You’re a monster.”
Relationships: Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, mentioned sam & puffy, mentioned tubbo & ranboo
Series: sav's dreamsmp drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047190
Comments: 34
Kudos: 272
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	burials and beasts

**Author's Note:**

> hello girl i went into a haze after today's stream and speedran this little vignette
> 
> every time tommy does a lore stream i crack a bit more and soon i will fully lose my marbles and run into the woods never to be seen again. that motherfucker's acting ignites something in me
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoy!

  
  
The only thing Sam can think about is how horribly small he looks.

From the time he stepped into the prison, thin and pale, laughing so fully it shook his chest like the skin of a drum, to the moment Sam lays his eyes on him, red and blonde against cracked obsidian—he was tall, he was loud, but his collarbone was sharp and his shoulders were hunched.

Dream is unmoving as he leans down and presses his shaking fingers to the side of Tommy’s neck, trying to find a pulse he knows isn’t there. There’s no clock on the wall. There’s no cat. 

He chokes down any sort of emotion, tries desperately to keep his face smooth. There is no pulse. There is a sickening amount of blood. Guilt sinks its claws into Sam’s gut, and he picks up Tommy’s too-light body and begins to clean up.

Muscle memory brings him from room to room, fumbles with keycards, pulls levers. 

Tommy has gone cold. Sam doesn’t think about the sound of his voice as he pleaded to be released. 

He doesn’t know what to do instead. He’s one of the most powerful people on the server, he’s built man-made monoliths with his bare hands, but he’s—he can’t—he doesn’t know how to bury a body. He doesn’t know how to walk out of the prison doors and tell the world that a boy is dead. 

He sets Tommy down gently in one of the prison’s many rooms and grabs a water bucket and a mop. He doesn’t think about the way that his skin is a patchwork of purple and blue and red. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Dream murmurs, eyes fixed to the red clinging to Sam’s chestplate once he enters the cell again. He hasn’t tried to escape, hasn’t even moved from his position tucked into the corner of the room. 

Sam’s fingers curl tighter around the rag in his hand. Iron is heavy in the air, filling his throat, choking him. Quiet, he says, “You’re a monster.”

Dream says nothing. 

He buries the body that evening, digs a grave deep in the forest, places one of his own music discs on Tommy’s chest and cries. It’s been years since he cried like this, he guesses. He writes down the coordinates in a book and puts it in his enderchest and steps away from freshly turned dirt. He feels like a chess piece, moving in jolting sort of motions and doing only what is logical. 

He changes his clothes. He cleans his sword. He tells Tubbo and Ranboo first.

He steels himself for tears, for comfort, for guilt so heavy it starts to make his shoulders ache, and instead he gets _O_ _h_ and _T_ _here’s no way, really?_ and _L_ _et’s go work on the hotel, Ranboo._

Sam’s not sure how he’s supposed to react. He’s not sure of a lot of things, today.

Someone’s set up a small carrot farm next to their house. They’re growing beautifully, frilly and green and dew coated. 

Someone has narrowly escaped a creeper since he last saw this section of the path. The wood is splintered and cracked. 

Someone is dead. He forgets, every few moments, before it comes washing over him again—no more wild laughter, no more nervous whispering, no more Tommy. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. 

He barely even knows this kid, and people die all the fucking time, it’s a natural part of life, he _knows_ , but knowing something and feeling it are entirely different affairs and his chest aches. Tubbo doesn’t even believe him. Who does he have left to tell? Other than Sam, who cares anymore? 

He tells Puffy.

He stumbles into her home, and his shoulders slump, and she knows immediately that something is wrong.

“Tommy is dead,” he whispers, “Dream killed him.”

Puffy’s teacup shatters on the wooden floor. She takes a deep breath.

Sam holds her tightly, burrows his face in her wild fair hair and tries his hardest not to cry. They clean up the ceramic shards together. 

“Was it bad?” Puffy braves, used tissues on the table and water boiling again. 

Sam sucks in a breath and it means more than any words could. Her face twists again, and he grips her hand tight as he can. 

The stars pass overhead. Orion shines against a black-blue canvas. Sam doesn’t sleep. 

A week passes. Another. Tubbo looks wrecked when he sees him next, and Ranboo shakes his head when Sam steps towards them. 

Technoblade comes to the prison. He says he heard Tommy was dead. Sam’s face is blank when he informs, “There was a security breach during his visit. They got locked in together. Dream killed him. I couldn’t get there in time.”

Techno’s grip on the front of the desk is white-knuckled. He nods, and he leaves.

Sam finds Phil at what’s left of Tommy’s old house the next day, knees are pressed to the dirt, head hung. Techno puts a hand on his shoulder. He walks quicker.

Another week passes. They’re starting to blend together. He spends 10 minutes convincing himself to not skip feeding Dream today. He wonders who he is becoming.

When he steps into the prison a few mornings later, Tubbo is waiting for him. He looks even more of a mess. His hair is wild, eyes red, clothes disheveled. 

“Where did you bury him?” 

“In the forest. Away from where anyone could dig him up,” Sam can’t muster up a softer wording, and even when Tubbo looks pained at his words he can’t regret them. 

“Take me there. Please.”

They go. Tubbo cries.

He gives Tubbo a shirt that Tommy had left before he entered the prison, and his throat is tight for the first time in a while. Tommy is gone. He's not away for a bit, he's not coming back, he's dead. His mark on the world is here and he isn't.

Sam doesn’t feed Dream the next day.   
  
  
  



End file.
